


bullseye

by durbanroads



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, M/M, Western Gothic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/durbanroads/pseuds/durbanroads
Summary: Did he dream of these lands? Was that the picture he drew with his fingertips at the height of his night fevers, when the aftertaste of the blazing noon Sun was enough to cater to all of his own selfish demeanors? Yes. He thought the road would smell like that. Bleeding sand, crowned in salt and liquor. That sure wasn’t the first time someone like him stepped off this platform and onto the hot barren grounds of Liberty. Hell no.
Relationships: Charlie Barnes/Dan Smith, Kyle Simmons/Dan Smith
Kudos: 8





	bullseye

He wondered how people were able to sleep. The sound of the engine and the rustling of the wagon were enough to disturb the stillness and the peace of an otherwise quiet journey. And the sun didn’t help too. The man looked out of the window, taking in the sight of ever stretching wastelands and barren ground, little vegetation basking under the relentless noon heat. He focused on the vision of boiling sand and tumbleweed, hoping that it would distract him from the snoring. The man sighed.

“What’s on ya mind?”

He looked up, following the voice coming from the other side of the wagon. It was one of the few people that were still awake after almost three hours since they left the station. A dark-skinned woman, part of her face obscured by a curved hat. Smoke trailed from a cigarette she held; golden fog, if something so mundane could also appear dazzling if observed from a certain angle. Although the sunlight encompassed the stick, it didn’t touch her figure at all. He promptly ignored her.

“I get it.” She blew a sequence of smoke rings. “It ain’t none of my business. I'm tellin' ya, yer balls ain't fallin' off if a chick talks to ya. Y’all like it when it’s the other way around.”

“I ain’t got nothin’.” The man answered.

“Sure.” There was a playful tone to her voice. “That’s bosh. I ain’t messin’ with ya. I’m just curious.”

His attention shifted back to the window. It’s not like he enjoyed small talk with strangers.

“You ain’t from here.”

“No.”

“Headin’ to Liberty?” She smirked. “Came a long way.”

“Familiar with the town?” If the woman was bent on bothering him during the last bits of the trip, he wouldn’t oppose the idea of making her talk about what he wanted to hear, thought the man.

“Don’t know. Who’s askin’? ” The woman eyed him head to toes, trying to decipher the outer shell of the man in the wagon. “Never seen ya creeping around here before. Smell like curly wolf.”

“I ain’t no con man.”

“You a gunslinger?”

“Don’t know.” He shrugged, indifferent. “Who’s askin’?”

She smiled, teeth glistening in the golden rays of sunlight soaking the edge of her seat.

“Ain’t tellin’ my name to no man. Not the odd sticks; not the ace-highs.”

“Take me for one of those?” He wanted to know, the slightest hint of excitement flickering in his stubbled, rectangular jaw after the long haul journey from the life he had just left behind.

“A man of the law, though ain’t no ace-high.” She guessed, lifting the cig once again to her mouth. “Came from the Old States. Can tell by yer face. Got tired of the fuss and blowhards? Liberty will suit ya. Town’s quiet as a goner.”

When he didn’t reply, the woman knew what she said was true. Some part of it, at least. Their conversation bore no fruits after her last remark, and he let himself drown in the silence and the smell of lit cigarettes as the valleys of red sand rushed beyond the dirty windows of the steaming train. The man looked up after a few minutes, noticing he was alone in the wagon; the elusive black woman whose tongue was sharp as a dagger nowhere to be found. That also included the snoring passengers, who apparently had all left before him. He quickly got a wiggle on to exit the locomotive, setting foot on the set of wooden planks that composed the station’s platform. The train departed in a matter of a few seconds; engines alive with the sound of sizzling vapor, the smoky trails following their path along the rails into the deep ends of the wastelands. 

The man sighed.  _ So that’s how I wind up,  _ he thought. Did he dream of these lands? Was that the picture he drew with his fingertips at the height of his night fevers, when the aftertaste of the blazing noon Sun was enough to cater to all of his own selfish demeanors? Yes. He thought the road would smell like that. Bleeding sand, crowned in salt and liquor. That sure wasn’t the first time someone like him stepped off this platform and onto the hot barren grounds of Liberty. Hell no.

He didn’t think the town would be  _ that  _ big. The station was just one of the several wooden buildings, and judging by the neverending sight of roadhouses, saloons, shacks and sketchy inns built far from what looked like the main road, he’d say that was one of the largest towns he’d ever been to. Folk crowded outside small clubs, while others went about their days, passing by and proceeding to disappear as if engulfed by turbid heat waves. A distant mirage slipping out of a sane man’s vision. 

However, there was a persistent illusion. It distinguished itself from the marsh of reddish and coarse undertones, and the man had no other choice but to embrace this sight. A sensorial thrill draping over his shoulders and coating him with the smell of polished wood and fine leather. 

“Mr. Smith.” He offered a hand while nodding his head in recognition. “Glad to see you made it to town. How was the journey from the East? Hopefully you ain’t dragged out.”

The man firmly shook Mr. Barnes’ hand.

“Train was hot as a whorehouse on a nickel night. I’m a bit up the spout.”

“The noon Sun sure is harsh. Come. We’ll talk with a roof above our head.”

Smith was led along the course of the main road, past the roadhouses and lotteries. In the distance, he could hear the cow sheds and livestock. Liberty was known for being a town that relied mostly on dairy products, meat and gold from the nearby mines, which has made this haven self sustainable over the course of the last few decades. The man understood the appeal. Promises of a simple life, as seen in the eyes of fulfilled wives and honored men that passed by. This town has literally become more than a humble settlement. Mr. Barnes gave those people a second chance. 

“I see you got my letter.” Said Mr. Smith. “Waitin’ for me at the station and all that.”

The mayor’s hazel eyes shifted to the man, taking a moment to observe his dirty clothes and dry skin. He was used to that view. That’s what the unforgivable western heat does to outsiders. 

“We try our best to welcome the new folk. Ya know. ‘Tis the people who make the town.”

“Been gettin’ a lot of us lately?” Asked the man. “Stuff’s rough since Greenville.”

“A few, ye. Some settled here, some moved further west.” 

“To the frontier?” Smith raised an eyebrow. “Gotta be game.”

“Or desperate.” The mayor responded, and took a sharp turn right.

The two men came across the biggest building yet, in the shape of a towering, two-story office being held upright by arcs and tightly nailed planks. Barnes held the door open for Mr. Smith, and as soon as he stepped inside, the familiarity hit him like a sucker punch. He wasn’t expecting the overload of memories, but it’s not like he had any other option. Past the stairs and a set of batwing doors, he caught a glimpse of the routine that once was his. A man whose clothes he recognized, for they were more than a casual attire. A uniform, if he could call it that. A badge one needed to carry. 

Liberty’s sheriff was surrounded by mountains and mountains of papers, his wide dark oak desk being lit by a solitary candle. The man turned to Smith and Barnes, long light brown hair cascading around a disciplined face that endured the hardships of government and tribulation.

“Howdy.” Barnes greeted him with a nod. “You heard about Mr. Smith.”

“Quit it. Call me Dan.” Said the man. “Y’all the ace-highs here.”

“If what folk said is right, we ain’t the only big bugs in this room.” The sheriff cracked a smile. “Smith from Coletown. Town looked like a paradise during yer time in the office.”

“Did my best.” Dan treated the compliment like it wasn’t that great of an achievement. “Townsfolk put faith in me. No way I could let them down.” 

“All in a day’s work.” The man empathized with him, and proceeded to introduce himself. “Sheriff Wood. Seems you already met Charlie here. Any fuss you find, let us know. Office closes at nine though.”

“Good to know.” Smith looked out the room’s window, to the back end of a lottery. The wooden planks gleamed white under the harsh sun. “Town looks grand. Y’all did a great job.”

“It comes alive at night.” Charlie’s voice had a hint of mystery, as if he talked about something ethereal. “The roads sing a pretty song and there’s always music in the air.” 

“Bet the saloons are popular.” Said Dan. “I can already picture it.”

“No, partner. That ain’t the right view.” The mayor smiled. “Gotta see with yer own eyes.”

“How was it like in Coletown?” Sheriff Wood wanted to know. “Had to deal with roostered folks? Can’t imagine the East being loud. Not the same spirit.”

The sheriff was right. It wasn’t loud, but Dan wished it was. Hell, he did.

“People didn’t have time to get soaked. Ain’t not enough benders. They lived for the road.”

“Hope you ain’t that breed.” Charlie patted his shoulder. “Place’s open at seven.”

There was no denying the mayor’s excitement. Dan noticed the curve of his lips hidden beneath a fuzzy, neatly trimmed beard and the way his eyes glistened just like the dark oak under the sun. Thankfully, he was not like Coletown’s mayor, the man thought. He had enough of Mr. Cooper.

“Will think about it.” Assured Dan. “Gotta hit the hay first. Feelin’ like mudsill.”

“The lodging will do.” Charlie hurried to the other side of Sheriff Wood’s desk and grabbed a small batch of papers. “We already started gettin’ yer place ready. Be lookin’ good as new tomorrow.”

“Got some money with me.” He promptly reached for his pockets. “Might do for the night.”

“Cut it.” The mayor stopped him, blocking his hands before they could reach the inside of the warm leather pants. “Ain’t paying for a good night’s sleep.” 

Dan intended to tell him he  _ wanted  _ to pay for his staying, but for some reason, he couldn’t find the right words. Was it the coins’ fault? Did the cold metal send his body mixed signals that failed to be interpreted after such an extreme heat wave? Or… was it something about the texture of the mayor’s fingers against his hand? The touch of someone else, after traveling alone for  _ months _ ? 

In the end, he shook the feeling off, and after saying goodbye to the sheriff, he let Charlie lead the way to the inn by the intersection just around the main road’s corner. The place was just a few buildings away from the saloon and a bar, both still closed. Dan followed the man through the swinging doors and up a flight of stairs, being greeted by a dimly lit corridor. In absence of proper light, Charlie’s eyes turned dark green, one shade away from black. He opened a series of wooden panels on the wall, revealing the outer part of a previously enclosed balcony. From up there, they could see Barnes and Wood’s office, as well as distant rail tracks and the station, forever stretching into the red and barren horizon. Both men stood there for a moment, and even though Charlie was already familiar with the view, he memorized every detail once more. Every wooden sign and each of the rooftops.

“A bit different from Coletown, ain’t it?” He asked, turning to Dan. 

Again, the loss for words. Now, they were both under the Sun. It was  _ definitely  _ the heat’s fault. The man wasn’t thinking straight ever since he stepped on that train over five hours ago.

“Ever been to the East?” 

That was the question which caught Charlie by surprise. 

“Not for long.” The mayor shrugged. “Was raised here. Got roots all over these lands.” 

“Wonder how that feels.”

Dan looked the other way before the set of hazel eyes could meet his gaze. 

“Folk that come lookin’ for us leave all their plunder behind.” He told Dan what he already knew. “Some want to forget, but not all of them. They try to bury it. Dig deep enough to hide it.” 

“That’s heaven for retired gunslingers.” 

For some reason, Charlie thought Dan’s observation was funny. He smirked.

“Might be. As long as they’re retired.”

“Swear I ain’t one.”

The mayor laughed, and with the sound of his voice, came the slumber. After a few minutes, Dan saw himself alone in the corridor, holding a key Charlie had given him. Once inside the room, he didn’t even bother lighting up a candle. The sheets were clean, and that was enough. No more rustling or mechanical whirring. No more snoring, and most importantly: sheltered from the sunlight. The former sheriff of Coletown drifted away, thinking that if he managed to get enough hours of sleep, perhaps he’d be able to experience Liberty’s nightlife. He couldn’t remember the last time he downed a cup of whiskey and let himself get lost in a poker match. Those were some of the few joys he had to leave behind, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the fast life and the smell of liquor.

Liquor? No. That  _ wasn’t  _ it. The odd stench drenched the oak planks as he jolted awake, suddenly aware of the poor quality of the air around him. Dan hurried to the door only to be greeted by the warm and damp midnight air. He looked down to the main road; no signs of candles anywhere, but that wasn’t the worst. The saloon was completely silent. Did they close already? It didn’t make any sense. There was no way he slept that long, especially in a bed that wasn’t his in a place he barely knew. Maybe if he talked to Charlie… no. Not yet. No need to go this far as to bother the mayor.

Just as he was about to go back to bed, he saw it. A silhouette, next to the lottery building. There wasn’t a single source of light near that figure, but Dan could swear he noticed a somewhat fiery, orange tint surrounding part of that vision. His mind drew the shape of a man. He pictured his face; a puzzle far too vast and dazzling to piece together. There was a surge, not of movement, but recognition. Something innate. A flickering fraction of notion carried by the wind like trails of smoke.

But the night was alive, and so were the winds. They carried the smoke, and stillness rained upon the grounds of Liberty. 


End file.
